Nurjahan's Daughter (31 page)

Without a word, the eunuch hurried off with the message. Laadli’s note never reached the artist. It was intercepted by Hoshiyar Khan. The cunning eunuch, anticipating Laadli’s move, had waited near the harem gate. As soon as Nissar emerged from the gate, he was seized along with the missive by the guards.

Within moments, Laadli’s letter was with the empress, who ordered that the eunuch be thrown into the dungeon. With despair, Laadli learnt of Nissar’s fate. All her attempts to contact Imraan failed; he seemed to have disappeared into thin air. No one knew where he had gone. She could only hope that he had been able to escape before the royal guards had reached him. Nur Jahan noticed her daughter’s wan face but refrained from discussing the matter with her. She determined to have her married to Shahryar at the earliest.

A few days later, Laadli entered the empress’ chambers. ‘I want to speak to you, Ammijaan.’ She had used the term Ammijaan to address the empress after a long time. The chasm between the two women had grown increasingly wide. ‘Why did you have to do this?’

‘Do what, Laadli?’ the empress feigned innocence.

‘You have punished Imraan and sent Nissar to the dungeon. Neither of them has done you any harm to deserve such a terrible end. You should have punished me for the misdemeanour.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

‘You know very well what I am talking about. Imraan has disappeared, no one knows his whereabouts.’

‘How am I to blame for that? May be he got tired of romancing you, or may be he did not have the guts to face the repercussions. Anything is possible.’

‘You know that is not true. He would never desert me. As for guts, he has much more of it than many so-called brave men. In my entire life, I have met just two valiant men–my father, Sher Afghan, and Imraan. Unfortunately, both of them were victims of your machinations.’

‘Hold your tongue, Laadli! You are crossing your limit. I had nothing to do with Imraan. As for Nissar, this is what he deserves for having encouraged you to indulge in indecent escapades. He is paid by the emperor to restrain you, not to assist you in your dalliances. You may go now.’

Laadli fumed at her mother’s words and stomped out in a rush. She almost collided with Shahryar who was strolling towards the empress’ chamber. He was the last person she wanted to meet at the moment, she despised the effeminate prince.

‘Well, well, why are you rushing Laadli?’ he drawled.

She ignored him and kept walking towards her apartment, her vision blurred by tears.

L
aadli flung herself down on the bed. The sharp shards of her dreams seemed to litter the floor of her apartments. She lay in her bed wondering if her lover was alive. The cool breeze coming from the river fanned her hot, feverish body. As if in trance, she watched a huge spider waiting patiently in the silken web it had spun in a corner to ensnare its prey. She watched as a tiny insect walked into the web. It struggled to free itself from the silken skein unsuccessfully, while the wily spider watched calmly from a corner. Suddenly, the spider pounced on the unsuspecting creature. Within minutes, the insect was dead.

Laadli woke up with a fever that the hakim’s prescriptions seemed unable to cure. By the third day, even Nur Jahan was perturbed at the strange illness. ‘What is wrong with the girl?’ she asked the royal physician. ‘Why doesn’t the fever go?’

The old man shook his head. ‘I don’t think it is a physical problem. It is in her mind.’

Guilty, Nur Jahan shouted angrily: ‘What is the use of your knowledge if you can’t heal the princess?’

The physician shrank back in fear. Nur Jahan’s temper was legendary. ‘I will prepare a special potion for the princess tonight,’ he whispered, bowing himself out of her presence.

A week passed, but the fever persisted. The shadows under Laadli’s eyes deepened even further, as the pallor on her face became more pronounced. Laadli refused to speak a word to her mother. The worried empress expressed her anxiety to Jahangir.

‘I don’t know how to deal with her sickness. It is all because of that artist. I wish we had never set eyes on that man.’

‘Begum, I am to blame for all the problems. If I had not suggested that he tutor her to play the sitar, things would not have gotten out of control.’

‘No, no, Jahanpanah, don’t blame yourself. It is destiny.’ Nur Jahan was contrite.

The days passed and Laadli’s fever receded of its own accord. She realised the futility of her position. There was nothing she could do either to trace Imraan or be with him. With Benazir and Firdaus by her side, she slowly began to recover. Sitting in the garden one evening, she held Benazir’s hand and said, ‘It does not matter if he is no longer with me. I had some time with him, and for that I will always be grateful. No one can snatch his memory from me nor wipe his image from my heart.’

Laadli’s run of misfortune had not ended however: news reached her that Mirza Ghias Baig, who had been ailing ever since his wife died, was on his deathbed. Laadli’s heart skipped a beat at the information. First her beloved grandmother had passed away, then she had lost Imraan, and now the only other person she loved in the world was also leaving her.

‘Why am I so unfortunate? Everyone I love is deserting me,’ Laadli lamented to her friend. Without waiting for her mother’s permission, she summoned a palanquin and rushed to see her grandfather.

The old man lay helplessly in his bed; his breath coming in shallow rasping bursts. His once imposing body seemed to have shrunk in size. ‘Abba,’ she cried, tears pricking her eyes. Sitting on the floor by his bed Laadli stroked the old man’s feet lovingly.

The tired eyes flickered in response and the Mirza tried to speak. With his hands, he weakly gestured at the girl as if in benediction and closed his eyes.

Half an hour later, Nur Jahan arrived with the emperor. They rushed to the old man’s side. Laadli moved away towards a window and stared out at the gigantic mango tree in the courtyard. Her mind was numb with grief.

As if in acknowledgment of his daughter’s presence, Mirza opened his eyes and a rueful smile lit them up for a moment. He clasped her hands in his shrivelled ones and tried to say something. The lips moved but no words emerged from them. The exhausted soul finally soared and left the body with a shudder. Loud wails filled the room and Laadli knew her grandfather was no more. She felt abandoned and desolate.

Jahangir was grief-stricken. The wise old man had been his advisor for many long years. There were very few dependable ministers in his court, and Mirza Ghias Baig had been one of them. He had been unbiased in his counsel and sincere in his efforts. With the death of her father, Nur Jahan lost her friend, philosopher and mentor. For many years she had depended on her father for guidance.

A few months after her father’s demise, she approached the emperor for permission to construct a mausoleum in Agra for her parents. Realising that the work would serve to divert her, the emperor quickly granted her all the monies required for the grand monument she intended to build.

‘It will be all marble and silver, standing tall near the banks of the Yamuna, a memorial that will take people’s breath away with its grandeur,’ she declared one evening.

Jahangir had a great respect for his wife’s architectural abilities. The beautiful monuments she had designed spoke of her talent. There was one last thing that needed to be done before she put her energies into constructing the mausoleum.

‘Jahanpanah, you have given me everything I have asked for, but my mind is besieged with worries about Laadli’s future. I will know no peace till the girl is settled.’

‘You are right, begum, it is time Laadli got married. After her unfortunate romance with that artist, it is necessary that she gets married.’

‘Shahenshah, I want to remind you of the promise you made during our wedding. You had promised that Laadli would be married to one of the princes and that he would ascend the throne.’

‘Who do you have in mind? Prince Khurram has already declined to marry Laadli. We can’t force him to do so.’

‘I was thinking of Shahryar.’

‘Shahryar? Have you taken leave of your senses, Nur? He is inept and stupid. Laadli is an intelligent and sensitive girl. I do not think it is right for us to tie her down with that fool. Have you heard the rumours about his preference for boys?’

‘I have heard them but I think it wiser to discount the rumours. They could just be the products of malicious minds. I have no doubt that Laadli will be able to change his habits. Besides, I will personally take it upon myself to reform his wayward nature.’

The emperor could sense the rising anger in her. Lately, he had been feeling fatigued and the very thought of arguing with her tired him. All he wanted was to rest in the gardens of Kashmir, writing his memoirs.

‘As you wish, begum. It was just a thought I expressed. If you feel that he is right for your daughter, I have no objection to the marriage. Now stop fretting and sit by my side. Will you read aloud the latest set of verses composed by Sa’adi for me, in your dulcet voice? It calms my disturbed nerves.’

Now that she had got her way, Nur Jahan happily indulged his whims and read out the verses aloud in tune. Jahangir loved nothing better than listening to her sing verses of famous composers. He sipped his wine and closed his eyes. This was far better than indulging in futile arguments, where the empress would have the final say in any case. In all the years of their married life, the emperor had never revoked her decisions. They were final and brooked no opposition. His consent was incidental.

Laadli was not surprised when her mother announced her marriage with Shahryar. She had sensed it coming. Like the emperor, she submitted to her mother’s desire rather than get into a fruitless argument with her. Grief-stricken, she did not have the spirit to fight Nur Jahan. The hermit’s prophecy haunted her. But Laadli decided to make at least one attempt at dissuading her mother.

The empress was seated in the pavilion enjoying the evening breeze that wafted in from the river across the fort. The musicians were playing a soft evening raag and the servants were lighting up the candles in embellished candelabras.

‘I want to speak to you,’ Laadli performed a hasty kornish as she approached the empress.

‘If it is about the marriage, there is no use. My mind is made up. And I do not want to hear anything about Shahryar, either.’

‘I don’t want to marry, not now, not ever. Emperor Akbar had proclaimed a law against the marriage of Mughal princesses. According to his diktat princesses were destined to maidenhood. I want to exercise that right to remain unwedded.’

Nur Jahan’s laughter sounded harsh in the serene surroundings. ‘You are not a princess. You forget that your father was a common soldier and you are a princess by name, not by birth. The edict of Shahenshah Akbar was meant for Mughal princesses, not for pretenders. I am an empress because I married an emperor, but you are a princess because the emperor was generous enough to grant you the title.’

At that moment, Laadli hated her mother more than she had thought possible. She was a ruthless woman and nothing touched her insensitive heart.

‘Take my advice, Laadli. Try to accept whatever Allah has destined for you. Stop lamenting about the lover and prepare for the wedding. You shall be an empress one day and empresses don’t cry. Shahryar may be a fool but he is also a prince and one day he could ascend the throne. A small sacrifice has to be made for the comforts of the throne.’

‘I do not want to be an empress. I want to be happy. Do you hear that? I want to be happy. I want to escape from the disgusting environment of the harem. I want to live a life of freedom. Please set me free,’ she begged, clutching her mother’s feet.

‘Freedom to marry a man off the streets?’ Nur Jahan’s brows arched with disdain as she took a drag from her hookah. ‘That can never be allowed. You have to marry a prince.’

Laadli stared at her mother with pity. ‘Why am I grovelling before you?’ she said. ‘You can give me nothing. Your very ambitions make you powerless.’

The bejewelled woman sitting before her was the most powerful woman in the country, but no one knew better than her that Nur Jahan was just an insecure woman who lived in constant fear of losing everything. Nur Jahan dreaded the thought of her besotted husband dying, leaving her bereft of imperial powers. She knew that Jahangir’s days were numbered–he was a sick man. His overindulgence with alcohol and opium was slowly disintegrating his innards and leading him to death. Laadli knew that she was her mother’s only insurance.

Drawing herself to full height, she stood up tall before her mother. ‘I will agree to marry the prince if you set Imraan free from the dungeons or wherever you have sent him. I will trade my life for his.’

‘You are living under an illusion, Laadli. I do not know your lover’s whereabouts.’

The truth finally dawned on the young woman. Imraan was no longer alive. Nur Jahan could not agree to the trade off because he was already dead. With a sinking heart, she walked slowly out of the room.

Shahryar was elated with the match. Although no love was lost between Laadli and him, his dreams of power suddenly seemed within reach. Being on the empress’ side would bring handsome rewards. Already the emperor, prodded by Nur Jahan, had bestowed several important jagirs on him. These brought him substantial wealth and had far-reaching consequences in the struggle for power between him and Khurram. He hated his elder brother’s guts and nursed secret ambitions of ascending the throne. All his life, the delicate and feminine prince had been taunted and belittled not only by his father but within the harem also. He would never forgive Khurram for the vile name he had given him. The moniker Nashudani had been Khurram’s gift to Shahryar.

Right from his childhood, the dull-headed prince had avoided the company of men. He hated the combat training and studies that he was forced to take up. The merest hint of violence could send his heart aflutter. There was nothing that attracted him more than spending time in the dance halls and the bars. Addicted to opium, he spent most of his time with dubious companions who took advantage of his position. Sunk in wine and debauchery, Shahryar spent time away from the court and shunned the harem because of the mocking women. He feared the wrath of his father and hated the derisive remarks of his brother, Khurram. No one gave him any importance nor asked him for his opinion.